I regularly witness people come to rural Ireland and begin to unravel some of the stress of their lives. Urban living for all of its convenience can lack a connection with nature and land. I've seen this with Irish people in particular, that their being is soothed by landscape. At a deep . . .
I was once told (in a semi naked state in the steam room in Splashworld) that unless your family had been around for at least 400 years you couldn’t possible be called a Waterfordian. After 30 years I am still here and probably will be until I’m carried out in a box, (or in my case, in a . . .
Postscript by Seamus Heaney And some time make the time to drive out west Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore, In September or October, when the wind And the light are working off each other So that the ocean on one side is wild With foam and glitter, and inland . . .
We head out west where the roads are small and everything takes time. We arrive in the rain of course and the van winds across the mountains of Connemara as we aim for Killary Harbour. The family are gathering with a small Swedish Grandnephew as the centre of it all. He is a smiling bundle . . .
If you bear with me and my one minute video, you will share a precarious event, somewhere along the lane to Carrickavantry Lake. What you won't see is that I have a jagged briar wrapped around one leg which left tooth marks all over my calves, and that I am trying . . .
I'm starting to look for signs of Spring. Bluer blues, brighter whites, dazzling yellows. Soon the Spring stars of the show will have the limelight all to themselves in the dormant landscape. It's the 100th Anniversary of our Easter Rising, the Rebellion of 1916 that led to the setting . . .
We organised the first International Women's Day Celebration, in 1986. My baby, just a few weeks old, came with me that night. His Dad looked after him in a room downstairs while I facilitated the meeting of about 150 women. If needed he could be brought up to me for a feed.......such are . . .
Nature is not a place to visit. It is home. Gary Snyder There comes a point in every journey when you turn for home. For me it's the last twisty turn of a boreen, onto our meandering lane. This first bend of the lane is also the top of a hill and just before I set off on the last mile, I can . . .
Some towns were barely touched by the "boomiest" boom Ireland never had. Today a small dog, waiting for his master to return from the match, is alone amongst empty shops, messy paint jobs and abandoned petrol pumps. Some buildings change hands every few months; go from being a sweet . . .
“The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.” ― James Joyce, Ulysses We spent one night only, camping near the Martello Tower in Sandycove, Dublin. It features in the opening chapter of James Joyce's Ulysses, so they say. All night long they came and went, up and down . . .